Page 12 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
While Simon busied himself looking for the information, he could feel his mother’s gaze upon him. ‘Did you have any breakfast this morning?’ she asked. ‘You look a little peaky.’
‘I’m fine, Ma,’ Simon said hurriedly. The last person he wanted to discuss the invitation to Cross Dean with was his mother. She’d never found out just how miserable his school years had been, and he didn’t see the point in enlightening her now, decades after the fact. And she’d only try to convince him to go. She was a lover of all things nostalgic, and viewed Cross Dean as the kind of place oneshouldbe nostalgic about. Simon, however, couldn’t have felt more differently.
As Margaret chatted lightly about her grandchildren’s latest exploits, Simon did what he usually did, and smiled and nodded. But he felt distinctly off balance. He should just chuck the invitation in the bin and have done with it. He didn’t need to go back to Cross Dean. But there was that small voice inside his head wondering if by facing his demons, he might lay them to rest once and for all.
‘Well, I can’t stand here nattering all day,’ Margaret Treloar said, forcing Simon to zone back into the conversation. ‘Come over for dinner later in the week? I’ve got some fresh lamb from the local farm that needs cooking and it’s far too much for just me.’
Simon smiled at his mother. She was forever trying to feed him up, even though he was nearly forty. ‘Thanks. I’d like that. I’ll ring you.’
As she said goodbye and left his office, Simon’s smile faded. Deciding that a walk to clear his head was in order, he tucked the letter and invitation into his back pocket. He needed to check the chapel over again, anyway, to ensure that the information he’d sent the BHF about it was correct. The way they’d stuck their oar in over the wedding, it felt as if one inaccurate fact could jeopardise the event, or even cancel it altogether. He didn’t want to be responsible for that; he knew Serena and Montana would be devastated. They’d waited so long to get married, he wanted to make everything as perfect for their big day as he could.
The sun was shining as he crossed the broad sweep of lawn at the front of Roseford Hall, taking the main route to the chapel at the southern end of the grounds. When the chapel was fully open to the public, this would be the acceptable way to get to it, although it could also be reached from one of the quieter streets in the village, where it lay beyond a large field. As he walked, Simon was pleased to see today’s visitors enjoying a wonderful day out. He’d got used to seeing the crowds exploring his family home in the three years since Roseford Hall had been open to the public, and while, at times, he wished it were still his family’s own private haven, it was in much better shape now than it had been when it had been in Treloar hands. And, most importantly, would remain so long after the last member of the family had shuffled off this mortal coil.
He began to approach the chapel, noting, as he walked, that some of the path needed mending. It wouldn’t do to have tourists coming a cropper. Rounding the side of the chapel, making his way to the front door, he suddenly caught sight of a familiar-looking figure coming across the field from the village entrance to the chapel’s grounds. She turned in his direction and he saw the arm in the sling, and the slight summer breeze lifting her dark hair away from her face as she crossed the grassy flat. She, too, seemed to be heading towards the chapel. Curious, he paused for a moment to watch her, and had a stronger feeling that hehadmet her before.
12
Lizzie was in no hurry as she ambled through the kissing gate that led, after a large sweep of field, to Roseford Chapel. She’d made her way down the village’s main street, still uncertain as to whether she should cross the threshold of the hall again, but in the end deciding that, short of going back to Roseford Blooms and inflicting herself on Bee once again, or eating even more cake at Roseford Café, there weren’t really that many other options. She wasn’t in the mood for shopping, despite the many independent shops that seemed to have sprung up on the main street, and she really could do with the fresh air.
Funny, she thought, how things just came back to you. She could make out the impressive frontage of Roseford Hall in the distance behind the chapel, but she had to admit the whole village was looking smarter, its wild, abandoned beauty having been tamed by an army of employees and volunteers from the British Heritage Fund over the past few years into something a lot more manageable. The manicured hedges of the estate and closely cropped lawns, now populated by tourists. A civilised air. A sense that it was being preserved for the future, rather than falling into genteel decay. Lizzie was in no doubt that, should she venture into the house itself, she would find it completely different, too. But she wasn’t quite ready to do that. Today, a walk in the gardens and a quick peek at the chapel would be enough.
The sun was at full strength now, and Lizzie felt its warmth on her back. She wished she’d put on a T-shirt to stop her shoulders burning, instead of the strappy top, but she still had limited mobility when she raised her arms. Moving to the shade of the large oak trees that stood sentry along the edge of the field, she ambled along, catching glimpses of tourists in the Roseford Hall gardens playing with giant wooden versions of Connect 4, draughts and a rather large chessboard on the vast expanse of lawn. Off in the far corner, in the shadow of another gigantic oak tree, she could just make out a game of croquet being played. Roseford hadBridgertonto thank for that, she thought.
She was so caught up in her observations, it was a few seconds before she recognised a familiar figure heading to the chapel from the lawns of the house. Simon Treloar. Was there no way to avoid the man? Immediately, her mood began to sink again. Surely this blessed estate was big enough that she shouldn’t have to run into him everywhere she went? And, oh, Christ, he was heading straight for her.
‘Hi,’ he said as he approached. ‘I, er, thought I recognised you.’
‘What was your first clue?’ Lizzie smiled briefly, and raised her arm slightly. The smile, though, vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She really wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and especially not with Simon.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. You?’ Lizzie’s reply sounded perfunctory, even to her own ears.
‘I, er, was just on my way to check out the chapel,’ Simon said. ‘Pre-wedding stuff, you know.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Lizzie regarded him curiously. ‘Are you prepared for the paparazzi invasion that this place is bound to get, with that particular couple and their guest list?’
Simon laughed. ‘There’ll be security on the entrances, but you’re right, the happy couple has a whole army of friends who’ll make this sleepy old estate look like Oscars night!’ A look of concern crossed his face as he said this, as if he was worried about being indiscreet about the wedding to a total stranger.
‘Don’t worry.’ Lizzie found herself smiling at him. ‘I’ll keep quiet.’ She felt a little flutter in her stomach as Simon smiled back at her.
‘Sorry,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I’m on edge about it all. Serena and Montana have been great about everything; if anything, it’s the bloody British Heritage Fund who keep throwing spanners in the works with their compliance demands and their acres of rules about what we can and can’t do. I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not my estate any more, and they’re the ones who are in charge.’
‘Sounds like a real hardship.’ Lizzie’s tone was laced with sarcasm, and she was unsurprised and a little ashamed when Simon’s expression shut down immediately.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘That was unfair. My arm still bothers me when the painkillers wear off.’ She raised her wrist an inch to emphasise the point. ‘It’s making me a bit snappy.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Simon was smiling again. ‘Under the circumstances, I think you’re allowed to be a bit grumpy.’ He paused. ‘Bee said you’d had a car accident?’
‘Yeah,’ Lizzie replied. ‘The culmination of a lousy couple of months. The icing on the proverbial cake.’
Simon grinned. ‘Don’t mention cake – the one for the wedding has six tiers. Six!’
They stood, rather awkwardly, where their paths had crossed, about fifty metres from the chapel itself. Lizzie, who was torn between wanting to get away from Simon and, weirdly, wanting to keep talking to him, felt in a quandary. She’d deliberately come this way to avoid the possibility of bumping into too many people and now here Simon was, making conversation with her.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to your walk,’ Simon said eventually. Lizzie was surprised to see how awkward he looked. She remembered him as a lanky, slightly shy teenager, but when she’d seen him earlier, he’d seemed much more self-assured. ‘Unless, er, you wanted a quick peek at the chapel? Bee’s been in a fair bit to work out where best to put the arrangements for the wedding, so you’re welcome to come and see it, too.’
Lizzie hesitated. She’d quite enjoyed the chat with Simon, and she was curious to see the interior of the chapel that would be holding the so-called ‘wedding of the year’. What harm could a quick look do?
